


Hashtag Gesundheit

by VanillaIsNotPlain



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Ending Credit Photos, Friendship, Girls' Day Out, Humor, Potya meet Bertha, Secret Adventure, Skaters' Day Off, canoeing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 05:04:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11798991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanillaIsNotPlain/pseuds/VanillaIsNotPlain
Summary: “Don’t look at me,” Nishigori Takeshi responded. “I know better than to get between my girls and a potential meme. Particularly on a Girls’ Day Out.”“I don’t think this actually qualifies as one anymore,” Yuuri pointed out to the triplets’ father.“At a Girls’ Day Out, it doesn’t matter if you’re a boy or a girl,” Lutz declared magnanimously with a wave of her spoon. “We don’t discriminate.”“You’re just saying that because you get ice cream on Girls’ Day Out,” Takeshi riposted.“But I don’t get any,” Yuuri noted sadly, staring at the empty place setting. Diets are evil.###Mila Babicheva just wanted her rinkmates out of her hair.Yuri Plisetsky just wanted to finally enjoy Japan’s waterfalls the way they were meant to be, i.e. go whitewater rafting.Katsuki Yuuri just wanted to survive Nishigori Girls’ Day Out with sanity intact (And why was Yuuri invited again?).And, unbenownst to Otabek Altin, Bertha just wanted to meet Potya.But sometimes, despite our best efforts, things just don’t go our way.(A “Secret Adventure” request fic)





	Hashtag Gesundheit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShiranaiAtsune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShiranaiAtsune/gifts).



> This is for a prompt / request from Shiranai Atsune!

 

“So, how have you liked your visit to Russia so far?” Yuuri asked, bending over to loosen a skate’s laces after a productive practice.

“It’s alright,” the newly-arrived Otabek responded. “Not too different from home. Or Canada for that matter.”

“Oh?” Yuuri replied disinterestedly, rubbing at stray goosebumps cropping up on double-layered forearms. Darn all these warm-blooded northerners with their high metabolisms and their predilection to wear shorts in the snow. Despite that, Yuuri was still happy to be there with the younger man. Otabek might be the only other sane skater Yuuri knew; it was a rare pleasant experience to be able to just share a moment of relative tranquility where the world could just... make sense and stay at peace.

“But there’s one thing that’s surprised me so far,” Otabek continued, shifting his duffel as he packed his equipment back up. “Yuri told me he went to a gaming convention last night.”

Yuuri laughed shortly. “I’m not surprised.”

“Neither am I,” Otabek admitted, “Except by whom he went with.”

One of Yuuri’s skates dropped from suddenly slack grip. “Who?” Yuuri asked, attempting (and failing) to eliminate overprotectiveness from the tone of the query.

Otabek dispassionately held the Japanese skater’s gaze. “The same person he’s to go to a concert with tomorrow,” he elaborated.

Yuuri laughed, relieved. “Oh, is that all?”  

Otabek frowned at Yuuri’s evident relief. “He's never come to one of my gigs.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow curiously. “You have gigs?”

“I'm a DJ,” Otabek dropped the bomb.

Yuuri hid the resulting shock well. "Does Yuri know you're a DJ?"

Otabek shrugged. "It's on my Facebook profile."

When was the last time Yuuri had read one of those?

"It's also on my skating association website, under my hobbies," Otabek continued gravely.

Yuuri didn't even go there. "Maybe you should tell him. Even better, show him! I bet you have lots of solid recs for programmes."

Otabek gazed back thoughtfully. “Okay. Maybe I will later. But back to what we were talking about - since when have _they_ been friends?”

Yuuri smiled serenely. “For a while now. But I’m not surprised you didn’t know; they don’t act like it in general, do they?”

“No,” agreed Otabek. “I was pretty sure Yuri hated his… everything.”

“Yeah, he probably did,” Yuuri admitted with a chuckle. “Until… _that_ happened. It’s a bit of a long story.”

Otabek glanced back at the revolving Russians still remaining on the rink. “We’ve got time.”

Yuuri sighed at his persistence. “Fine. It went something like this.”

  * Previously, during a Russian training session held in Hasetsu, Japan -



“And then, _then_ , Viktor goes and forces me to get whacked with sticks by these bald Buddhist monks.”

“Are you sure they were Buddhist?”

Mila’s eyebrow twitched.

“Hah?! What do you know so much about it?”

She sped up a bit from her position between her two arguing rinkmates as they lapped the ice.

“Anya knew a lot about world religions. She was so culturally and spiritually sensitive. Oh, Anya…”

Mila could feel a vein in her forehead throbbing.

“Don’t even start, Georgi! I’m the one talking now, and I’m telling you both about how stupid Viktor is as a coach! Anyway, after that, there was this waterfall - ”

“But I’m just saying, I’m sure Anya would say they were probably Shinto.”

"Hah?! Who the hell is Shinta?!"

“Okay, stop!” Mila threw herself into a screeching halt, showering the trio in slivers of scraped ice. The fed-up girl set her face in a rare frown, and glared at her suddenly halted rinkmates, who warily waited in silence. “Now. Boys. You -” she pointed at a jumpy Georgi “have got to stop obsessing over Anya, and you -” now it was Yuri’s turned to gaze cross-eyed at her jabbing index finger “need to stop complaining about Viktor.”

Yuri opened his mouth.

“Or Yuuri,” Mila concluded firmly.

Yuri shut it.

“Now, I know this will be a big step for you, and it’s going to be difficult at first,” Mila bulldozed on, “but I know just how to get you started. Tomorrow’s our free day. We’re going to go on an adventure, just the three of us - no one else invited. Don’t worry, I’ll arrange everything.”

“I don’t know whether to feel excited, or terrified,” Georgi admits.

“What he said,” said Yuri in a rare display of synchronicity.

“Oh hush,” Mila scolded.

“So, this is supposed to take our minds off moping?” Georgi clarified.

“Yes,” Mila confirmed. “And just to make sure, Georgi, you aren’t allowed to mention Anya, and Yuri, you can’t name Viktor or Yuuri, for the whole time. Or else…” she trailed off, punctuating her threat with a deliberately deep carve of one skate’s blade. A heavy scar trailed after it on the Ice Castle Hasetsu’s smooth surface.

The two males gulped.

“I’m so glad you understand,” Mila told them brightly. “Now, get a good night’s rest, because we have a full day ahead of us tomorrow!”

###

Bright and early the next day, Yuri pounded on the bathroom door.

“You done yet, hag?”

After some (unhurried, Yuri grumbled to himself) zipping, paper crinkling, and water running noises, the door opened.

“Why, yes, thank you for asking so politely,” Mila responded haughtily, sweeping past the teen loitering in the hall.

“About time,” Yuri shot back. “You’ll have to get a move on if we’re going to make it to the station by the time you said.”

“Oh, I’m not going,” Mila informed him.

Georgi, who had just dragged himself around the hallway corner, stopped abruptly. “What?”

“Don’t worry,” Mila said soothingly. “You and Yuri are still going by yourselves.”

“That’s not what you said when you walked _into_ the bathroom,” Yuri reminded her pointedly. “What could have changed your mind in there?”

Georgi, having dated a girl for a significant amount of time, could hazard a pretty accurate guess. “What exactly did you plan?” He stared at her fearfully.

“Oh, nothing bad,” Mila reassured him dismissively. “I’d go too, but today, what with the lack of indoor plumbing there…”

“Lack of indoor plumbing?!” Georgi echoed in alarm.

“It’s _fine_ , you big baby.” Mila rolled her eyes. “I’ll text you the reservation details by the time you reach your destination on the shinkansen.”

“Why Georgi?” Yuri demanded.

“... He’s older?” Mila shrugged. “And you keep leaving your phone on flight mode.”

Yuri ignored this. “I still don’t get why you changed your mind in the bathroom.”

“Yuri.” Mila loomed over the younger skater threateningly. “If there’s one thing about girls you should remember, it’s to never question them, particularly when they change their minds.”

“Especially at a certain time of month,” Georgi whispered into his ear conspiratorially.

Yuri glared doubtfully at first one and then the other, but decided to let the matter drop.

###

A short while later, a yawning Viktor wandered into the hall, Makkachin trailing behind him. Neither had been up long, but without a day of being plastered on - he meant coaching! - Yuuri to look forward to, Viktor was already bored. But at this early hour, the ryokan was devoid of humanity. He and his faithful fluffy companion searched until finally finding signs of life in the main room. Entering, Viktor looked in vain for his favourite person to bother. "Where's Yuri?"

"Oh, Yuuri's out with the Nishigoris. I thought you knew?" Mila glanced up at the older Russian as she crouched in front of the disc tower.

Viktor waved dismissively. "Not _my_ Yuuri.” Viktor recalled being strictly informed yesterday that there would be no interruptions tolerated during the sacred Nishigori Girls' Day Out. So of course he meant “My _other_ Yuri."

" _Our_ Yuri, you mean." Mila turned back to perusing the well-stocked shelves. "He's out today."

"Where?" Viktor asked, feigning only a mild passing interest. He merely wanted to intrude on - he meant enhance Yuri’s fun.

"Not telling. It's a secret." Mila finally selected a case and took it to the player. "You're welcome to join me though."

Viktor shrugged. "Okay." He shuffled over to an empty mat. Makkachin obediently trotted over a pace behind him. "Sorry boy. You've got two left feet. You'll have to just watch.” Settled in position, Viktor turned towards his Russian rinkmate. "You could give me a hint."

"Just shut up and dance, Viktor." Mila selected “Sandstorm” on hard difficulty on the Katsukis' DDR.

She won.

“Who just whipped the living legend’s ancient behind?” Mila crowed, bowing to an imaginary fawning audience. “Me, that’s who!”

Viktor scuffed the carpet with one fuzzy-socked foot. He wasn’t a sore loser or anything (Not that he ever had much practice losing). He just found it trying to have his behind described as ancient. Particularly before breakfast.

Mila, unaware, continued grandstanding. “Who thinks they can topple the queen of dance?”

“Yuuri could,” Viktor mumbled rebelliously. He hoped his student at least was not suffering as he was.

###

Meanwhile, Yuuri was being subjected to the unique but familiar suffering of catering to an aspiring photographer’s whimsical demands. Wasn’t this supposed to be over, here in Hasetsu away from Phichit? Yuuri mused on this as a sudden sneeze erupted.

“Can’t you hold still for five seconds?” The triplet standing on Yuuri’s lap tch’ed scornfully, readjusting her camera focus over the national skater’s shoulder. A chill breeze across the ice cream shop’s outdoor tables they were sitting at tickled the hair against the nape of Yuuri’s neck.

“Sorry.” Yuuri controlled the restless impulse to shift. “Wouldn’t this be easier if you stood on your father’s lap?”

Loop patted Yuuri’s knee condescendingly. “No, like we said earlier, he’s too tall. And your seat is in the perfect position anyway.”

“Yeah, about that,” Yuuri interjected. “I really don’t think you should be filming other people without their permission.”

“But Yuuri, that guy’s saying he has a ‘special feeling.’ A _special feeling_ , Yuuri! Not recording this would be a crime against posterity!” Axel positively drooled from her position on Yuuri’s lap, lens pointed steadily at a couple being interviewed several meters away.

Yuuri risked a quick glance backwards, and was assaulted by the physical need to facepalm in an exact imitation of the referenced man’s partner currently. “Okay, but still…” The words accompanied a plaintive glance towards the other adult at the table.

“Don’t look at me,” Nishigori Takeshi responded. “I know better than to get between my girls and a potential meme. Particularly on a Girls’ Day Out.”

This declaration was followed by several confused looks from surrounding patrons who overheard.

“I don’t think this actually qualifies as one anymore,” Yuuri pointed out to the triplets’ father.

“At a Girls’ Day Out, it doesn’t matter if you’re a boy or a girl,” Lutz declared magnanimously with a wave of her spoon. “We don’t discriminate.”

“You’re just saying that because you get ice cream on Girls’ Day Out,” Takeshi riposted with a smirk.

“... Maybe,” Lutz conceded, taking another bite.

“But I don’t get any,” Yuuri noted sadly, staring at the empty place setting. Diets are evil, even when imposed by your dream coach.

“Well, let’s make it Skaters’ Day Out then,” Axel suggested, finally climbing down from Yuuri’s lap, her footage saved. “What do skaters do in their free time?”

“Normally, I studied,” Yuuri admitted.

Axel wrinkled her nose at the revelation. “What do non-boring skaters do in their free time then?”

“Well…” Loop yoinked Yuuri’s phone and navigated to Instagram. “If they’re a Chinese representative visiting the States, they ride bikes with Leo de la Iglesia apparently.”

“Oooh!!” Immediately, her two sisters crowded around her to admire the latest post by +guanghongji+.

“Look, Leo posted too!” Lutz pointed at the new notification. The tapped on it, and were greeted by the same picture of the cheerful sandy-haired boy looking backward at the camera astride a bicycle, posed in front of a many-windowed edifice. Instead of the “New bicyclesssss” caption from Guang Hong’s post, Leo’s read "I hope he realizes they're rentals. Better wait 'til next time for the segues."

“I wonder where they’re riding?” Yuuri asked curiously, fond memories surfacing of the young stars from previous meets.

Loop scrolled down. “The local mall, apparently. They’re at Build-a-Bear.”

“Of all the places to visit, Leo’s showing Guang Hong Build-a-Bear?” Takeshi exclaimed.

"Dangit Takeshi, we're figure skaters, not tour guides. We don't actually get out much. I don't know why people expect us to know all about the cool places to go in our own countries," Yuuri retorted, affronted personally.

“Never mind that,” Axel dismissively waved. “What bears are they building?”

Still on Leo’s feed, Loop continued scrolling until finding an answer. “Aww!” She grinned, silently tilting the screen towards her cohorts. Yuuri craned over their heads to share the view.

They all melted at the photo of Guang-Hong lingering over a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle display, closely inspecting the blue-masked brother.

“Leonardo!” They cooed. How sweet, picking the character sharing his friend’s name!

“No wait, look!” Lutz interrupted the d’aww-fest, pointing out the next picture.

They clicked on it quickly, expanding an image of Guang-Hong holding up a dark-cowled bear with small black ears and a cape, with two winged throwing implements in its furry fist. Both the boy and the bear wore matching grim scowls, which fell far short of intimidating and well into the realm of adorable.

The caption read, “Thought for a while that we’d get a second Leo, but… quad flippin’ Batbear!”

+guanghongji+ posted underneath “I <3 batman,” and had already garnered a ridiculous amount of likes.

“I guess it makes sense, with his skating theme,” Yuuri admitted. Either way, it was too cute.

So was the next picture, a blurry shot catching the Chinese boy midsneeze, still holding his new toy up for the camera, and captioned "Guess it's cold in the mall."

“By the way, don’t the Russians have the day off today too?” asked Takeshi, changing the the subject. “We could have invited them to Girls’ Day Out too.”

“I think Mila would have liked that, but I don’t want to know what Yuri would have said to the invitation,” Yuuri thought aloud.

Axel turned towards Yuuri eagerly. “Do you know what he’s doing today, Yuuri?”

“No, actually,” Yuuri admitted, also curious about the whereabouts of the ice tiger.

###

Meanwhile, on the shinkansen, Yuri was wondering too.

“Have you gotten Mila’s text yet?” he asked Georgi for the fifteenth time in as many minutes. This time, the question was followed by a quick sharp sneeze. Yuri glared, rubbing his sniffling nose with the back of his hand, daring his companion to comment on it.  

Georgi wisely took the hint. “No, not yet.” He resettled beside him the expertly packed backpack Mila had plopped into his arms before shoving him out the door. He was interrupted in his task by a lilting chime. “Oh wait -” he checked the incoming text notification. “No, false alarm. It’s just Christophe sending another picture of him and his cat on that GroupMe.”

Yuri, familiar with Chris’s posting habits, slyly withdrew his own mobile and checked his Instagram. Cat photos were cat photos, Bae included, though Yuri could do without the scruffy Swiss in the frame. But that’s what the crop feature was for, after all. As he saved, Yuri asked his older rinkmate, “What do you think this sidequest Mila’s planned for us is?”

“I have no earthly idea,” Georgi responded honestly.

Yuri watched the snips of crowded concrete jungles flash behind them like ancient low fps film reel, shifting without transition into more bucolic scenery. “I’m calling skydiving,” he divulged suddenly.

Georgi shifted restlessly on the poorly cushioned seat, staring at the younger skater curiously. “Why skydiving exactly?”

Yuri flicked his line of sight to Georgi for the barest instant, then back to the distorted bulbous windows. “Mila said there wasn’t indoor plumbing, and they’re supposedly good for building trust.”

"Not trust in your teammates!" objected Georgi.

Yuri leant forward with an unamused sneer. “You don’t trust me to skydive with you?”

“No,” Georgi answered honestly. “The only person I’d agree to go skydiving with is An-”

“ _Hah_!” Yuri accompanied the exclamation with a missile-like kick aimed straight at Georgi’s shins.

Georgi, who’d long shared a rink with the ice tiger and by now had plenty of experience with this sort of thing, grunted a muffled “Urk!” and threw his threatened limbs in the air. Balancing precariously on the seats in an uncomfortable “V” shape, he recalled Mila’s earlier ultimatum. “Right, I won’t mention her,” he capitulated.

Yuri clomped his Convered foot back to the rattling car floor with a disappointed _thump_. “Tch.”

“But you know, if you want to go skydiving, I can think of one other person who’d probably go with you.”

Yuri raised an considering eyebrow. “You mean Vik-”

“Ah!” Georgi interrupted the burgeoning blunder with an upraised finger, which he hurriedly retracted at the flashing of bared teeth from the belligerent teen. In an effort to distract Yuri, Georgi hastily added, “I wonder what he’s doing now.”

“Hell if I know,” Yuri retorted shortly. “Probably something more fun than we’re doing now though.”

###

Meanwhile, back at Hasetsu’s Katsuki Yuutopia, Viktor Nikiforov, world champion figure skater, was getting creamed in DDR by his dog.

“Makka, you’re -” Viktor’s plaintive cry was broken up by a series of butterfly sneezes - “cheating!”

“Bless you. And how is Makkachin cheating?” Mila asked incredulously, staring at the rambunctious poodle prancing happily about on the dance mat. “And despite our break for breakfast, how is a dog jumping randomly better at dancing than you?”

Viktor paused in the center section of his own mat. “I’m an excellent dancer and athlete with impeccable control. My quad flips are famous,” he stated with injured dignity. “DDR is just less sophisticated than the real thing,”

Mila barked a short laugh at his haughty expression. “Too ancient for video games, old man?”

Viktor shuddered involuntarily. “Okay,” he declared, reaching for the remote lying on the nearby low walnut table and punching the power button decidedly. “That’s enough for today. Seriously, where is Yuri?"

“Why so fixated on Yuri?” Mila deftly shifted the conversation. “There’re lots of other people you could wonder about. The Katsukis are taking Lilia and Yakov out sightseeing I believe, and Mari is visiting her friends in a neighboring city. And why aren’t you asking about Georgi too?”

“Georgi’s not here?” Viktor asked innocently, scanning the cozy paneled room in surprise.

Mila sighed. “Viktor, we love you, but you’ve got to stop overlooking Georgi.”

“I don’t overlook him,” Viktor rebuffed the accusation. “I just block him out when he’s complaining about his exes. It’s not my fault he doesn’t say much else.”

“So you ignore him?” Mila translated.

“No,” Viktor denied, less than honestly. “Anyway, where is Georgi then?”

“I can’t tell you,” Mila informed him. “It’s a secret.”

Viktor stiffened. “He and Yuri are out doing something together, aren’t they? And you know exactly what!”

“Mmm,” the girl hummed noncommittally from her curled-up nest on the couch. She withdrew her mobile from her pocket, and checked the timestamps on her sent messages. “From my calculations, they should be starting right about… now.”

###

Right on cue, Yuri’s head jerked forward with a bone-rattling “Achoo!”

“Careful!” Georgi admonished. “You’ll rock the boat.”

Yuri glared at him.

“No metaphor intended,” Georgi elaborated, dipping a paddle into the steady current to adjust his heading.

Yuri ferociously smacked his own paddles into the small river in a quick staccato, ineffectually attempting to build up more speed. “We were so close to white water rafting,” he mumbled savagely.

“Can’t be helped,” Georgi reminded him, adjusting his sunglasses serenely. “Mila had already made reservations for the canoes.”

“So close,” Yuri grumbled again, splashing haphazardly. The disappointment of yet again not being allowed to put Japan’s ubiquitous waterfalls to their true, proper use still rankled. Still, this was an improvement compared to being forced to sit under them. But only very slightly.

“Slide, don’t slap the paddles into the water, remember?” Georgi demonstrated with his own as he pushed backwards smoothly and efficiently, lengthening the distance between their boats. “This really would be easier if we had just shared a canoe like the clerk suggested.”

“But then I couldn’t beat you,” Yuri explained seriously, rotating his head to maintain eye contact as he spun in slow circles in the lazy current.

Georgi pursed his lips thoughtfully, shading his eyes from the bright hot sunlight approaching its apex. He carefully observed Yuri’s (non-)progress. “I don’t think you can anyway,” he assessed honestly.

Yuri tossed an expletive over his shoulder, one with more sibilance and less rounded vowels than the ones he’d been employing of late, as he plied his oars to dampen his angular momentum.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve heard you curse in Russian,” Georgi noted affably in the same language. “I guess we’ve been using English since we’ve arrived, pretty much, since there’s always been somebody or other around who wouldn’t have understood us. It’s nice to switch back.”

“At least stranded in this godforsaken wilderness we won’t offend non-speakers,” Yuri counted his sole blessing, steadfastly ignoring that the basic purpose of cussing aloud was to do exactly that.

“I’m surprised you care about offending anybody at all,” Georgi admitted. “I don’t think anybody would mind anyway. The only non-Russian who’d really need to know what you’re saying during practice would be… Yuuri.”

Yuri bristled at the implication. “If you think I care what that Japanese p-”

“Ah-ah!” Georgi deftly maneuvered in front of Yuri’s canoe and arrested his spinning with one paddle. “Remember the rules?”

He was answered by a drenching oarful of inexplicably still icy river water to the face.

###

Meanwhile, said Japanese person was ringing the Nishigoris’ doorbell, before being interrupted by a terrific explosion of a sneeze. The after-echoes rang out like a gunshot through the tranquil neighborhood.

“Sheesh, Yuuri, be any louder, why don’t you.” Axel glanced sideways scornfully.

“It’s not my fault,” Yuuri protested with a wet snuffle and rough wipe to the nose. "We can't all have butterfly sneezes.”

“That’s what, the third time? Someone must be talking about you a lot, Yuuri,” Lutz teasingly interjected. “Could it be Viktor, perhaps?”

Yuuri was saved from an embarrassing deflection by the creak of the front door swinging open. The revealed doorway framed an energetic tiny figure beaming at the assembled troupe. “Hi Yuuri! Welcome back, girls! Did you all have a nice Girls’ Day Out?”

“Hey, Yuuko,” Yuuri greeted. The triplets’ mother and Yuuri’s own childhood best friend grinned in acknowledgement, eyes crinkling. “Takeshi said he had errands to run, so we headed back on our own.”

“Perfect timing! I just finished the laundry.” The diminutive woman held out a fresh-smelling basket of clothes out as evidence.

Yuuri sighed at her. “That’s not what Girls’ Day Out is for.”

“You’re one to talk, babysitting my girls on your day off,” Yuuko parried.

The three referenced terrors gasped in synchro.

“I wasn’t _babysitting_ them!” Yuuri’s hands flapped like the wings on a chicken fleeing  the butcher’s block in an effort to dispel such a ridiculous notion. “I enjoy Girls’ Day Out!”

Yuuko pierced her transparent friend with a knowing look. “You enjoy watching the girls stuff their faces with ice cream?”

Yuuri wilted. “... Not particularly.”

Yuuko offered a sympathetic smile. “All Phichit’s pics from the food festival he’s vlogging probably didn’t help either, huh?”

Yuuri didn’t know about this. Yuuko was yet again astonishingly well-informed. Who was exactly whose best friends here again? Checking the effervescent Thai skater’s Instagram confirmed that indeed, the documenting photos did not help. Yuuri spent a few moments of solemn silence salivating.

“Let us see!” Loop tugged Yuuri’s phone to her eye level, while her sisters raided their mother’s pocket for her own mobile. “I bet he’s hanging around all the crepes. They’re his greatest weakness, besides hamsters.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri affirmed, gazing at Phichit’s enraptured face next to a delectable strawberry one, before shooting a concerned glance at the triplet. Greatest weakness…? Were they documenting skaters’ Achilles’ heels now? Should Yuuri be worried?

“Well,” Yuuko set down her full basket with a muffled whump. “Now that the housework’s done, it’s time for the best part of Girl’s Day Out! You’ll join us, right, Yuuri?”

“Yeah, Yuuri! It’s always more fun when you’re around for this part,” Axel pleaded, tugging on Yuuri’s shirt hem.

Yuuri visibly brightened. The enjoyable part? “You’re going to feed me?” Visions of katsudon danced in Yuuri’s mind.

Yuuko laughed long and hard. “Ha ha ha, no, no way. I’m not crossing Viktor. No, I’m talking about the Nishigori Mario Kart Tournament.”

Nishigori Mario Kart Tournament, proper noun. 1. Event in which the Nishigori females dominate all contenders swiftly and mercilessly. 2. Definitely not Katsuki Yuuri’s favourite part of Nishigori Girls’ Day Out.

“Uh…” Yuuri’s faux-regretful declination died out at the fourfold expectantly hopeful tractor beams emanating from the surrounding females. “I guess I’ll stay.”  

“Yay!” The girls briskly set about the task of shoving their reluctant guest into their house’s gaping maw and past the point of escape.

A shivering thrill of premonition traveled down Yuuri’s spine. “On second thought, there are only four controllers, right? I should just let you girls play on your own.”

“No problem, Yuuri, I’ll do the play-by-play of the first rounds,” Axel offered magnanimously.

“She’s a great commentator, Yuuri,” Lutz assured their captive.

Yuuri could recall. Memories of scathing cries of "You're not losing on purpose, are you?" accompanied by sharp accusations of "You're cheating!" surfaced unsettlingly. It really was unfair how much of an advantage people who owned a game had over those who didn't; this would be an entirely different story if this were a DDR danceoff. Yuuri sighed in surrender. “Can I at least play as Yoshi this time?”

“No, you know that’s Lutz’s favourite character.” Loop poked the center of Yuuri’s back meaningfully.   

“This is going to be so much fun!” Yuuko set up the game and began plugging in nunchucks with successive clicks. “We should organize a proper tournament with all the skaters sometime!”

“I bet Yuri Plisetsky would be Bowser,” Lutz decided.

“Would Mila be Princess Peach? Or maybe Baby Peach?” Yuuri questioned, trying to match the pixie-like ethereal looks of the Russian women’s medalist.

Axel derisively rolled her eyes. “No, she’d choose Donkey Kong, obviously.”

Loop looked pensive. “I wonder who Georgi’d want to be?”

###

Meanwhile, in a river in the middle of nowhere, Georgi was wishing that he was pretty much anyone other than himself right about then. As if to further confirm his sentiment, he erupted into violent sneeze.

“Disgusting,” Yuri commented scathingly, making no move to offer a tissue or even a ‘bless you’ across the few meters between their canoes. “You’d better not keel over and expect me hike back to civilization to bring back help, here in this forest of… whatever this is,” he ended vaguely, gesturing at the swaying tops of dark green enveloping them in lacy patches of rhythmic shade.

“Pines, I think.” Georgi glanced upwards at the evergreens, snuffling into his shirtsleeves.

Yuri glared suspiciously. “How do you know?”

“I’m mildly allergic,” Georgi revealed, wiping his reddened nose. It wasn’t that bad fortunately; all it did was make his eyes and nose a little itchy. But still… he was pretty sure he’d mentioned it to his rinkmates before, multiple times. They never seemed to remember things he told them; on the other hand, An-

Georgi was interrupted from his internal monologue by a well-aimed tube of sunscreen aimed at his clavicle.

“What was that for?” Georgi objected petulantly, catching the projectile a centimetre before impact.

Yuri glowered at him. “You were thinking about your stupid ex. I could tell.”

“I’m allowed to think,” Georgi shot back, uncapping the caught tube and applying it to his exposed skin. He did need it, he could feel that now as he rubbed it into his pale forehead. Both he and Yuri were fair-skinned with fast metabolisms, born in and suited for the thinner atmosphere and sunlight of their homeland. Adjusting to radically different climates, such as Japan’s, at a moment’s notice was part of their job description, and undertaken far too many times by now to even merit recognition, much less complaint. But still, it was a drain on their stamina, and most likely, their moods. It also didn’t help that much of their waking hours inside a climate-controlled rink and thus were not exactly outdoors people. Thinking of it like that made Georgi feel an almost brotherly bond with his fellow fish-out-of-water.

Georgi glanced at Yuri, checking to make sure that his younger rinkmate had also reapplied the sunscreen. He stifled a smile.

“You, uh, missed a spot,” Georgi pantomimed at the large white blotch by Yuri’s left ear. “Want me to help you rub it in?”

Yuri pawed at the slick patch hurriedly. “Touch me, and I’ll remove your hands from your wrists.”

“Right.” Georgi watched him finish tucked safely inside his own canoe.

Task completed, Yuri bent down and picked his oars back up; in the past few hours, he’d improved considerably from his starting level. Concentrating on the water’s clear surface, Yuri muttered, “You shouldn’t mope over her so much. She obviously has even worse taste than you do.”

Georgi scrambled to save his own oars from slipping out of his slack grip in shock. Was Yuri… comforting him? He almost teared up behind his concealing sunglasses at the uncharacteristic display of backhanded support. He felt compelled to reciprocate the sentiment.

“You know,” he said casually, “Viktor and Yuuri pay an awful lot of attention to you.”

“That’s not fair!” Yuri barked back, sending angry splashes over the sides of his canoe as he struggled to create distance in front of Georgi’s own. “You know I can’t talk about them!” Softer, he added, “And I bet they’re only doing it because they look down on me and think I’m cute or junk.”

“You started it with you-know-who,” Georgi declaimed loftily, taking his own oars back up and sending his boat smoothly in Yuri’s wake with a strong _thrum_. “I can talk about them all I want. And no, they take you seriously as a rival.” And as a grumpy kitten too, but Georgi wisely decided to leave that part out. “They think you’re one of if not the strongest competitor. And that’s the year of your senior debut. They don’t pay nearly as much attention to me,” the older man tacked on a bit resentfully. Still he could understand - the duo had become closer to Yuri during their showdown, and learnt to respect his talent. But most importantly, they grew to care about him deeply; like the rest of his rinkmates, they’d seen past the ice tiger’s prickly exterior to the raw neediness of the child within. Georgi wished that Yuri could realize this for himself, but sometimes it took someone outside the situation saying it directly. He hoped his listener would pick up on the unspoken part of his relation.  

“Tch, whatever.” Yuri hid his eyes behind his overlong golden bangs. “It’s way past lunchtime, let’s eat already.”

They punted themselves to likely-looking bank, and climbed ashore. In silence, they unpacked their bentos and sprawled out on the tall grass.

“Sitting on your friggin’ feet for hours hurts like hell,” Yuri complained, stretching muscles that protested the sudden unfolding. “It’s like that siesta pose those monks kept jabbering about.”

“Seiza,” Georgi corrected automatically, spearing a tomato and ravenously chomping down. He agreed with Yuri’s assessment though. Though skating did employ the whole body, rowing worked groups of muscles Georgi hadn’t even been aware he had, while immobilizing ones that were used to more freedom of movement. The method of balancing was completely different too. While he currently felt more stiff than sore, he was sure that that reaction was merely postponed rather than circumvented.   

“And the reception’s trash here too,” Yuri groused, already glued to his phone as he snarfed down his entire side of rice. “Stupid Squirtle.” He exited Pokemon Go with a snarl, allowing the wandering digital monster to continue free.

Georgi reached for his own mobile, withdrawing it from the protective waterproof sandwich bag kindly provided by the boat (and whitewater raft!) rental shop. “Huh, mine’s okay,” he announced. He opened his news feeds.

Yuri shifted on the itchy grass and leaned over his shoulder intrusively. “Anything not lame?”

“Apparently, ‘Mickey-Crispino’ is ‘having an awesome day with his sis in Florence’”, Georgi read aloud from his Instagram. He admired a photo of the Italian skating twins posed in front of the Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore, matching smiles on their beaming tan faces, arms supporting each other and a knee each lifted jauntily. Georgi swiped to the next photo on his feed, by a different user, which showed the exact same picture - with the addition of a scruffy bearded man with intense blue eyes popping between them with his own matching pose. The succeeding picture, also from @EmilSkatesCzech, captured the next instant blurrily, with both twins whipping towards the photobomber with identical expressions of shock and (in Michele’s case at least) unrestrained disgust. Georgi and Yuri flipped through the rest of the posts silently, which consisted of the same three scenes on repetition, with only the background varying: after the catedral was the bridge Ponte Vecchio, then the plaza Piazza del Signoria before the stark castle-like Palazzo Vechio, and finally the Boboli gardens with scattered stately statues. “I suppose Emil is competing in Italy today?” Georgi guessed.

“Hunh,” Yuri commented disinterestedly. “As long as he’s not in Japan.” He reached around Georgi and snatched the remaining bento. He took a large bite, then immediately spat it out into the river and began gagging. “Ugh! It burns!” He threw the container to the side as he scrambled for his water bottle.

“I forgot there was a third box,” Georgi admitted, glancing at the distinct green tint to the stewed meat inside. He gulped, knowing what that meant. “Looks like the Wasabi Special.”

Yuri broke from glugging, a growl building in his throat. There was only one person who could be responsible for requesting that particular bane on cat’s tongues. He grit his teeth as the name built to a roar. “MILAAAA!”

###

“Hechuu!” Meanwhile, back in the Katsuki’s family room, the redhead primly dabbed at her nose with a tissue.

“Bless you,” said Viktor distractedly, echoed by Makkachin’s concerned _boof_ from his nest at his side. “But anyway Mila, you mean to say that Yuri’s in high school?”

“Why yes,” Mila answered, eyes glued to the television as she flipped through the stations. “Obviously; he’s fifteen you know. He’s mostly taking online courses through an accredited institution; I’ve been helping him with his geometry course. Oh, look at that cute couple being interviewed! Ha, that girl’s hiding her face from the camera! Her boyfriend must have said something dumb,” Mila jeered at the screen (where, if she had been looking closer, she might have noticed the tip of a phone looking suspiciously similar to Nishigori Takeshi’s peeking over the wall behind the reporter). She mashed the button for the next channel.

Viktor didn’t even glance at the screen, lost in thought. “I never even paid attention. I barely even remember high school. How old was I? What did I learn? Do I use any of it?” Viktor introspectively marveled at the gaps in his memory, before a sudden realization struck him. “Does this mean he was skipping when he’s stayed in Japan? Have I been aiding and abetting in delinquency? Ruining his chances at a normal and productive life? Are his grades slipping?” He gasped as a truly horrific thought came. “Is Yuri even literate?” Viktor jostled his companion’s shoulder next to him on the homey sofa, in an effort to shake her out of her legarthic TV-induced trance. He glanced at the screen to see what so sucked her in. He frowned. “Change the station, that white-scarfed guy with the empty smile is creepy.”

“Really? I think he kind of looks like you a bit, with the silver hair and blue eyes,” Mila mused, obediently moving past the Hetalia episode featuring Russia. “Anyway, chill out, worrywort. I’m sure it’s fine, Yuri was probably completing his assignments online. And of course he can read!” She scoffed, rolling her eyes at the man’s theatrics and sinking more comfortably into the deep couch. “How do you think he found you and traveled all the way here?”

“I’m not sure,” Viktor admitted. “He said something about asking an NPC.” He frowned, pensively stroking his dozing dog. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him use a map.”

“That’s because you always snatch the map out of everyone's hands and hog it when we go anywhere,” Mila explained kindly.

“Oh.” Relieved at having this mystery cleared up, Viktor promptly put it out of his mind and cheerfully looked for another distraction. Failing to find anything catching his interest on the stations Mila was still roaming, he turned to his mobile with one hand, the other still employed petting Makkachin. Scrolling through his notifications, he stopped at one that made him chuckle aloud.

“Hey, this is interesting,” he announced, nudging Mila until she reluctantly transferred her attention in his direction. “Look at this!” Viktor navigated to the brash Canadian skater JJ Leroy’s page, and swiped quickly past the previous day’s picture of the man smirking back at the camera surrounded by a bevy of ladies, sauntering to a dance hall in Singapore. “JJ is in Korea!”

“Really?” Mila shuffled into a better position to view the small screen, peering at the posts. “Looks like Isabella’s with him, as usual.”

“Yeah,” Viktor agreed, already on the next picture, captioned ‘Hanging with my homie @seung-gillee’. “Seems like Coach Kim foisted them on Seung-Gil.” The photo showed the mentioned Korean representative skater sitting tranquilly with a Siberian husky sprawled across his lap, warm incandescent lighting washing the dark muted interior of a modest room. It was tagged #apartmentSeungGilStyle and #StillDontKnowDogsName.   

“Seung-Gil posted that too,” Mila reported, checking her own mobile where the same photo appeared from @seung-gillee, captioned merely with a single dog emoji. “And also a wine bucket on a nice patio - oh wait, that’s from @PABarthezzz. Who is that guy anyway?”

“I don’t know, he pops up all the time on my feed too,” Viktor responded absently, still looking at JJ’s page. The next photo posted was similar to the first, with the addition of JJ’s girlfriend Isabella sitting beside Seung-Gil (who had scooted to the furthest corner of the sofa), absorbed in petting the dog on the skater’s lap.

Viktor couldn’t help but laugh as he read the comments beneath. “Listen to this Mila. @JJleroy!15: ‘I asked if I could pet the dog. @seung-gilllee said no. Isabella pet it anyway.’ @JJisNumber1: ‘She’s a very cute dog.’”

“Incorrigible,” Mila declared, grinning approvingly.

Viktor turned towards the faithful companion lying by his side. “Don’t worry, you’re a thousand times cuter, he assured. Makkachin whined humouringly. Viktor was interrupted from his coddling by a soft _ding_. “Oh, he just posted another picture.” He clicked on it, revealing a new picture of the three on the Korean couch sneezing simultaneously, tagged #cuties. He sighed, refreshing his feed. “Ah well. I didn’t expect to hear anything from Yuuri, but I wonder what Yuri and Georgi are up to. They haven’t posted anything.”

Mila hummed, unconcerned. “They might not be able to, over there.”

Viktor jerked his head up to look at her in alarm. “Over where?!”

###

Meanwhile, somewhere along a river that he didn’t know the name of, Yuri was wondering where he was exactly too.

While there was still plenty of daylight now, the sun was sinking lower towards the horizon, and Yuri had assumed they’d be finished with this ridiculous trip well before dark. But he’d yet to see any sort of marker signalling the end of their trek. He sneezed briefly, barely noticing the interruption, as he swatted at a bug hovering near his face in irritation. “Are you sure you’re taking us the right way?” Yuri called.

“Yes. There’s only way we _can_ go in the boats,” Georgi answered, eyes cast downward into the flowing water. “I wish I'd packed a pole; this looks like a perfect spot for angling.”

“I don't care what the sin or cos of the river is,” Yuri shot back, alarmed.

“That’s not what angling means,” Georgi explained patiently, settling his sunglasses more firmly on his nose. “It’s just another word for fishing. And it’s sine and cosine, not sin and cos.”

Yuri gripped the hands on his oars into tighter fists angrily. Mila! “I didn’t know you fish,” Yuri said quickly, seeking a distraction from his blunder.

“I don’t,” Georgi admitted readily. “But I’ve heard fishing is good for writing poetry. Probably lyrics too.”

“You write that stuff?” Yuri asked again, with more honest curiousity this time.

“Well, I only wrote poetry for An-” Georgi wiped his face from Yuri’s dispassionate splash. “Right.” He sighed and tried again. “I tried writing lyrics, but they were always rejected.”

Yuri stared at his rinkmate, incredulous. “You were in a band?”

“I was the vocalist,” Georgi admitted matter-of-factly. Yuri, try as he might, couldn’t detect even a hint of pride. “I only recorded one song with them. What was it called again…?” He paused, rowing silently for a minute. “I think it was… ‘You Only Love Once’?”

“Huh,” Yuri huffed shortly, feigning little interest as he stowed his oars and drifted in Georgi’s wake. Sneakily, he retrieved his phone and opened his ‘Things I Mean to Look Up Later but Probably Won’t’ list in his memo app. His tongue slipped to the side of his lip as he tapped the title ‘You Only Lose Once’. It probably wasn’t any good anyway. Slipping his mobile back in its waterproof bag, Yuri said aloud, “I always thought in a band I’d probably be the electric guitar. The one who sings too. With lots of metal screaming.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Georgi shot the dream down. “That would be drunk Yuuri. But I could see you as a very angry drummer.”

Yuri was slightly miffed, especially considering it would be hard to argue without bringing up the taboo name, but found himself not completely dissatisfied with the concept of drums. Particularly if heavy grunge. And hearing Georgi’s opinion on it, as somewhat of an insider apparently, was mildly entertaining. “As far as symphonic bands go,” Yuri branched out, “I thought I would be that loud brass one, the one that you hear all the time in The New World, and 1812. The ones that aren’t the cannons.”

“Do you mean the trombones?” Georgi clarified.

“Yes, those.” Yuri picked up his oars and resumed rowing. Now that he thought about it, they carried the weight of the theme in a lot of classical pieces he’d heard for skating and ballet.

“I see you as more of a trumpet.” Georgi kept pace until they were side-by-side. “Viktor, on the other hand, is a stereotypical trombonist.”

“Isn't a trumpet just a short trombone wannabe?” Yuri asked suspiciously.

“No,” lied Georgi, sunglasses blankly expressionless.

Yuri regarded him calculatingly, but couldn’t definitively discern the truth. But he could wait. The paddles were very long, and the river was narrow. If Georgi slipped up, he had little chance of dodging an offended Yuri.

“Whatever,” he conceded. “Anyway, do you know what time it is?” When not distracted by their back-and-forth banter, Yuri found the worry of not knowing how far they were from their destination creeping back.

“Let me check,” Georgi answered readily, propping his paddles in his canoe and checking his own phone. “It looks like six thirty. We have some time before sunset, we should arrive at the dock by then.”

Yuri hid his sigh of relief as an awkward cough.

Georgi, unreacting, scrolled further on his phone. "Oh, and speaking of bands, it looks like another skater just arrived back his home airport, returning from someplace called... ‘South by Southwest’? He's a DJ, apparently."

Yuri glanced up in mild interest. "A DJ? Who?"

Georgi opened his mouth to answer, but shut it again in the realization that he had absolutely no idea how to pronounce the name. "No one important," he decided, closing @otabek-altin’s photo of the Kazakh skater smiling down at the camera on the gently sloping escalator.

Yuri nodded in a rare show of agreement. Whoever he was, whenever they next competed, this mysterious DJ was going down on the ice floor anyway.

“Anyway,” Georgi returned to their prior conversation as he returned his phone and propelled his boat forward, “I told you something about me. Now it’s your turn.”

“That’s not what we were doing,” Yuri objected.

“I know,” Georgi agreed pleasantly. “But it’s not like we have anything better to do.”

Yuri craned his neck, scanning their surroundings. It was true, he realized. He couldn’t see anything to break up the monotony of the same shivery trees that had closed them in their entire trip - no birds, no woodland creatures, and no other tourists. He sighed in defeat.

“I game,” he admitted finally, deciding that one was safe enough if he didn’t elaborate on it.

“Yes, I know,” said Georgi blandly. “We all do. The only reason your Angels don't is because you keeps slipping your 3DS into our pockets before they mob you.”

He didn’t only play on his 3DS, but Yuri didn’t feel like mentioning his levels in the MMORPGs he ground at nights right now. “Fine. I know how to juggle.”

“Really?” This piece of news did capture Georgi’s interest.

“It helps with balance and dexterity. It’s good for my routines,” Yuri explained the odd choice of hobby away, neglecting the equally pertinent fact that it was a rare sport in which you could toss and play with flaming objects with impunity, with enough training.

“That’s pretty cool, Yuri.” Georgi smiled with unaffected admiration at the younger boy.

Something inexplicable and longing woke in Yuri’s chest with that simple admission.

“I’ll teach you,” he blurted.

Georgi drew his thick brows together, perplexed. “What?”

“I’ll teach you, about gaming or juggling or whatever,” Yuri rushed on, before his natural protective reticence could catch up with his mouth. “If you’ll show me about bands and music and stuff.” That wasn’t quite what he wanted, but Yuri decided to stop himself there and wait for an answer. He was sure there were other people he could ask, if Georgi turned him down; it wasn’t like Yuri _wanted_ to hang out with him in particular or anything. Of course not. It was just, over the course of the day, he’d come to realize that being stuck with him wasn’t as completely a drag as he had been afraid of at first. Georgi didn’t make fun of him nearly as much as Mila or Viktor, for one thing.

“Okay, sure,” Georgi agreed readily. Yuri bit back a contented smile. “But after finals,” the older rinkmate determined. “We have a lot of work ahead of us still.”

“Of course after finals,” Yuri scoffed. “I'm going to beat you, you know.”

Georgi smirked at him tauntingly. “You'll try. My love for An-"

"Ah-ah!" A shallow wave sloshed over the side of Georgi’s boat. Just because they were both agreeing to something for their mutual benefit didn’t mean Yuri was going to be soft on him. It was so rare for him to have a legitimate reason to throw water at someone.

"My love will not be quenched,” Georgi finished his declaration, striking a noble pose, which unfortunately sent his sunglasses flying. “Ah!” He bent over in an attempt to catch them before they sank to the river bed or were swept away on the current.

Unfortunately, the canoes had a low tolerance for shifts in centers of gravity. Georgi exceeded his, and promptly fell out of the boat with a loud splash.

Yuri gripped the sides of his own canoe in shock. A myriad of frantic thoughts flew through his brain at the speed of sound. How deep was the river? Could Georgi swim? What was the phone number for emergencies in Japan, and how could he direct anyone here? Where exactly did you place your fist when rendering CPR, or was that for the Heimlich maneuver? And, if he had to do mouth-to-mouth, would that count as his first kiss (He knew with a guilty reluctance that that was a petty concern, but it was important, darnit)?

Fortunately for him (especially on that last one), Georgi was up and sputtering within two seconds of his spill, hands latched securely to his still upright boat.

“Whew!” Georgi laughed shortly, blowing his dripping hair out of his eyes. “Now, how to get back in…” He floated, considering the problem.

Yuri, stressed from his sudden fears, didn’t wait for the logical conclusion to reenter from the riverbank. “Here, I’ll help you,” he barked gruffly, extending a hand towards the bobbing skater.

Georgi, observing Yuri’s position, widened his eyes in powerless recognition. “Wait, Yuri, don’t -”

With a resounding _sploosh_ , Yuri went tumbling into the drink.

This time, Yuri only had space for one thought before he hit the river surface. And it was that, somehow, he knew just who to blame for this.

###

Meanwhile, back in the ryokan, Mila and Viktor both wiped their noses after a particularly explosive sneeze.

“Goodness, I hope we’re not coming down with something,” Mila noted, tucking themselves more securely beneath the throw she’d repurposed.

“I don’t think so,” Viktor denied stubbornly beside her on the sofa, lazily watching the ending credits (which he couldn’t read). “What’s next?”

“I don’t know.” Mila shrugged carelessly. “I can’t read Japanese.”

“I hope it’s not another episode of this,” Viktor shared. Makkachin curled up at his feet wuffed softly in commiseration.

Mila frowned. "What, you have something against Sailor Moon?"

"No," Viktor explained. "It's just that they've been showing it nonstop for two hours." That, and Phantom Mask made him itchy to know what Yuuri in the eros outfit would look like with a domino mask.

"You better not let Sempai hear you say that," Hiroko warned. "She loves Sailor Moon marathons."

"You're back!" Mila greeted the returning skate mom joyfully.

"Yes, I just returned." The short cheerful woman bent down to fondly rub behind Makkachin's floppy ears as the poodle padded over, tail wagging.

"Welcome back," Viktor told her politely, recalling the calming rhythm of the Japanese phrase for entering homes. "I thought you were out with Toshiya and Yakov and Lilia?"

"Yes, and Sempai too," Hiroko confirmed, smiling at her child's coach. "They're at a sake brewery now; I decided to come back early and get a head start on dinner." She surveyed the cozy scene the stay-at-home trio made, eyes crinkling in maternal satisfaction. "So you've been resting up here, have you?"

Mila lifted a corner of their coverlet temptingly. "You're welcome to join us," she invited.

Hiroko chewed on her lip, weighing her priorities. She swiftly settled on the right one. "Well, just for a bit." She settled in next to the younger girl, who tucked the blanket around her snugly. Makkachin settled down on her feet with a noisy sigh. "What are we watching?"

"Naruto," Mila read aloud as the title flashed across the television.

"Oh, I think you'll like this one," Hiroko divulged, patting Viktor's knee indulgently. "My Yuuri tells me that you like ninja."

Viktor's eyes sparkled brighter than Usagi's transformation sequence. "Japanese ninja?!" Yuuri's enthusiasm for Hasetsu's ninja castle had been markedly lackluster; Viktor could not comprehend why. Ninja were obviously the coolest.

In this particular episode, the four witnessed cell seven's first mission outside Konoha to the Wave Country, at its memorable climax. This was particularly significant for Viktor, as it included a certain fan-favourite sympathetic anti-hero.

Viktor was in awe. "Haku's amazing! She's my favourite ninja!" he exclaimed rapturously, marveling at the ice genkai-wielding wanted shinobi. Finally - a replacement for those evil zambonis!

"Haku's a boy," corrected Mila, who had caught some previous episodes earlier (and actually paid attention).

"Even better!" Viktor beamed. Just like his own younger days, with flowing hair and androgynous looks!

And at that moment, Kakashi impaled Haku.

The three on the cushions stared in a moment of silence.

"...But, he's a ninja! He's in less than three pieces! He'll survive, right?" Viktor asked hopefully.

"I don't think so, dear," Hiroko told him gently. She didn't remember the entire Naruto storyline that well, but there was definitely enough drama in that scene to kill off a minor character.  

Viktor gazed at the screen forlornly. "... Oh."

"Well, would you like to help me with dinner? I can teach you about Japanese cooking," Hiroko offered, trying the break the glum mood.

"Yes! We'd love to! I love to cook!" exclaimed the easily distracted Viktor, who only cooked as a rare treat.

Mila, who had experienced exactly why that was the case, looked up in alarm.

Viktor didn't notice. "What are we making?" he asked eagerly.

Hiroko had been going to make katsudon, but seeing Mila behind Viktor with her arms crossed in an emphatic "X" and mouthing an exaggerated "No Cooking!!" gave her pause. Wisely heeding this ominous warning, Hiroko quickly changed her answer to "Onigiri."

"Oni-whut?" Viktor inquired, head tilted in confusion.

"Rice balls," Hiroko translated.

"Oh yay!" Viktor jumped up and all but flew to the kitchen.

###

“Okay, that should be plenty! Now you two freshen up while I plate these,” Hiroko announced, shooing the two Russians from her kitchen with a motherly air.

“I wonder what’s keeping Yuuri,” Viktor confided anxiously. “Yuuri’s always on time once dinner’s ready.”

As if called by the magical words, the referenced skater slipped through the back door.

“I’m home” echoed tiredly from the hall.

“Welcome back, dear,” Hiroko called back, bustling with dinner preparations.  

“Yuuri!” Viktor greeted his favourite student with arms wide open in welcome. “You’re back!”

Yuuri trudged right by him as if he were air.

Viktor lowered his arms slowly. “How come you look like you’ve been through a war?”

“Because I have,” Yuuri stated hollowly. “A continuous four-way war filled with injustice and brutality. I can never look at banana peels the same way again.” A dark shadow haunted the poor innocent’s face at the recollection. “Ugh, that soulless smile…”

“Oh,” Viktor answered eloquently. He paused politely for a moment in deference to Yuuri’s agony. “Well, do you know where Yuri is?”

Yuuri looked up, startled out of the grim reverie. “No, I don’t. He’s not back yet?”

“No,” Viktor confirmed. “Mila said Mari was picking them up, but she wouldn’t say from where.”

“Well, I wouldn’t worry,” Yuuri assured him. “I’m sure they’re all enjoying their trip back then.”

###

Meanwhile, the two boys were standing by the river landing’s car park just as a well-loved pickup pulled over in front of them.

“Well, boys, hop on in,” Yuuri’s elder sister Mari instructed, checking her nighttime lights were switched on in the gloaming. Satisfied, she finally turned towards her prospective passengers. She startled at the sight they presented. “Woah…”

Thoroughly bedraggled and soaked to the bone, the pair sneezed at her simultaneously, remains of the bentos she’d meticulously packed for them that morning clasped wetly in their tired grips.

“Good thing I brought tarpaulins,” she commented mildly. “They’re in the back of the bed; I’ll help you get them.”

They spread out the tarps on the back seat in silence, and piled in. Satisfied that her passengers were buckled in and safely stowed away, Mari shifted, exited the park and pulled out onto the highway.

She glanced at her rearview mirror, noting the tired nods of the two boys as they fought off sleep. “So, you both had fun?” she asked neutrally.

Yuri yawned, mouth a pink cavern. “No.”

“Yes,” Georgi quickly spoke over his blunt compatriot. “It was very… refreshing. And thank you for picking us up.”

“No problem, it was on my way back,” Mari demurred. It was clear they were both still repressing something. Older sisters could tell these things.

“It’s okay,” Mari assured them. “Just let it all out. I won’t tell.”

Georgi and Yuri glanced at each other, silently weighing their chances. With a grim nod, they decided.

Together, they both opened their mouths, sucked in a deep lungful of recirculated air, and let everything loose.

“I MISS MY SWEET ANYA SO MUCH -”

“THIS IS ALL VIKTOR’S FAULT, AND ALSO THAT IDIOTIC, PATHETIC EXCUSE OF A -”

“ANYA WOULD HAVE REMEMBERED THAT -”

“IF IT WEREN’T FOR THAT OLD MAN, I COULD HAVE BEEN WHITE WATER RAFTING -”

“MY DARLING ANYA -”

“STUPID VIKTOR AND HIS DISGRACE TO THE NAME OF YU(U)RI -”

Mari, with the patience honed by years of being the elder sibling to a similarly high-strung professional ice figure skater, merely turned up the radio volume to drown out the wailing from the back seat for the remainder of the drive home.

###

“We’re back,” Mari hollered, discarding her shoes at the door.

“Welcome back!” Hiroko came forward, beaming at the weary travelers. “You must be hungry, I’ve left some onigiri out for you on the table.”

“Hiroko, Viktor, and I made them,” Mila informed them, appearing round the corner.

Georgi and Yuri froze in their rush to the table and turned towards her with identical expressions of horror. “Viktor?”

Mari, standing behind them, merely raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“Don’t worry,” Mila assured them, bestowing consoling pats on each of their shoulders. “Hiroko and I took out all of his when he wasn’t looking.”

With exhalations of relief, the hungry trio resumed their stampede towards the table and sweet sustenance. Mila trailed behind them and watched companionably.

As they stuffed their faces, Yuri, dead tired, sopping wet and (yet again) deprived of whitewater rafting though he was, began to feel a bit more hopeful. He glanced at Georgi from the corner of his eye. His coaches and rinkmates weren’t all that bad, he guessed. He’d learnt a lot more about them that day, and he could admit, if only to himself, that they weren’t total losers. And that was leaving out the others he’d met more recently, like Yuuko and Hiroko and Mari. And… it pained Yuri  to admit it, but he thought perhaps skating with Viktor, and maybe even Yuuri, wasn't as bad as he liked to complain.

Until, that is, he bit down into something that was tougher, saltier and more sour than he was.  

Mila only needed one glance at the Russian teen's face to tell. "I guess we missed one of Viktor’s."

###

“So, that’s the story,” Yuuri concluded. “They were so sore the next day that they couldn’t do any jumps. I think they caught a cold too; they were sneezing like crazy. Yakov yelled at them for eight minutes straight.” Yuuri met Otabek’s eyes solemnly. “We timed it.”

The sole listener let it all sink in for a few moments. Yuuri could respect that. Thinking before speaking was the mark of a well-grounded, responsible individual, something Yuuri believed they had in common. Pretty soon, Otabek would point out something pithy and wise about the whole affair. They would discuss it calmly and rationally, without haring off onto some scatterbrained tangent or new imaginary crisis, as always happened with pretty much everyone else. Yuuri was looking forward to this.

“That was a good point, about Yuri’s schooling,” Otabek somberly noted.

“Hmm? Oh, yes, that’s true,” Yuuri agreed politely. It had also been puzzling at the time, but since mentioning it to others could have been construed as devious way of knocking Yuri out of the Onsen on Ice, Yuuri had never brought it up and assumed the matter had been arranged somehow.

Otabek rose, drawing his and Yuuri’s bags to his shoulder. “We should go check on that. Come on.”

Yuuri nodded. “Yes, we - wait what?!”   

Otabek didn’t even glance back as he headed towards back hallways. “Yuri always gets away with a lot. Aren’t you concerned about his education, as his friend?”

Yuuri trotted behind the shorter but more solid male (who currently held Yuuri’s skating supplies hostage). “Well, yes, but I’m his _friend_ , not his _mom_. We’re not his parents!” Otabek didn’t slow. This wasn’t what Yuuri had expected of him at all. It was, admittedly, a very rational concern, but this degree of doggedness bordered on the obsessive. Well, if reasoning wouldn’t work for motives, maybe it would for means. “We don’t even know what school he belongs to!”

Just as the words left Yuuri’s mouth, who should appear but Mila, leaving the women’s locker room.

Otabek finally paused. “Do you know which school Yuri uses?”

“Sure,” said Mila placidly, rattling off the name without batting an eyelash.

“Okay, thanks.” Otabek nodded once in gratitude, and then reached into his pocket and withdrew his mobile. Punching in the name into the map app, he discovered a nearby location. “It’s by this station there.”

Finally retrieving the stolen bag, Yuuri tried another tack. “Do you even have fare to go anywhere?”

“We won’t be riding the rail. We’ll take Bertha,” Otabek informed the overwhelmed Japanese skater.

“Bertha…?” Yuuri echoed faintly.

“This way,” Otabek called back, already at the back exit.

“Ohh, Yuri’s going to kill us,” Yuuri moaned. “Maybe not Otabek, he seems to like him. Definitely me though.”

“If he finds out,” Mila amended cheerfully.

“That’s true,” Yuuri mused, turning the concept over. Failing to catch any downside, doe eyes turned towards clear aqua ones beseechingly. “You won’t tell him?”

“I won’t tell a soul,” promised Mila, expression wide with sincerity. If Yuuri had spent another second looking closer, perhaps the concealed mischief would have revealed itself too.  

“Thanks Mila, I owe you one!” With that fervent avowal, Yuuri slipped out the exit.

“Don’t mention it!” Mila waved at the receding figure humouringly, a calculating look slipping across her features.

Yuuri never noticed, outside in the narrow bricked alley behind the Russian rink, instead staring in mixed incredulity and resignation at what could only be assumed to be “... Bertha?”

“I never travel without her,” Otabek explained.

“Your motorcycle’s name is Bertha?”

“Yes,” said Otabek shortly, already striding to the aforementioned vehicle and loading in his gear.

Well, it was an … unusual name, particularly for someone of Otabek’s background and nationality, but then, it was much the same with Yuri’s Potya. With that recollection, a certain sinking presentiment congealed in Yuuri’s stomach. “Does Bertha happen to be… short for something?” Yuuri asked finally, allowing Otabek to withdraw the duffel from a distracted grip.

“Yes, actually.” Otabek glanced up in muted surprise as he loaded the second piece of luggage on his bike. “It’s an English amalgam of ‘bear ermin Tasmanian devil’.”

What.

“They’re my favourite animals. They’re… cuddly,” Otabek continued defensively, evidently taking Yuuri’s silence as judging.

"I'm not judging," said Yuuri, definitely judging. It was humanly impossible not to. Yuuri knew of the Kazakh hero’s fondness for stuffed bears, but combined with the other two creatures... suffice it to say, Yuuri had seen images of Tasmanian devils before. Goodbye, sweet illusion of a fellow sane skater. Hello, endless future as the sole tsukkomi in a world of bokes on ice. But, on the flipside, one person came to mind who might derive satisfaction from Yuuri's present suffering. “Have you met Yuri’s cat?”

“No,” admitted Otabek. “Why, is his cat cuddly too?”

Yuuri declined to answer that one. "You and Yuri are perfect for each other. Where have you been all his life?"

Otabek glanced up from his inspection of his tyres. "That's funny, that's what Yuri said when we met up in Barcelona," he answered. Otabek punctuated the comment with the shove-snap of opening the seatwell and saddlebags, from which he retrieved a pair of helmets.

Yuuri accepted the one Otabek proffered, but made no move yet to put it on. "Oh? Did he really?" Frankly, it was hard to imagine Yuri saying any such thing, especially to a competitor.

"Not in so many words," Otabek admitted. "He actually just kicked my shins. But I knew what he meant."

Yuuri unconsciously rubbed the aforementioned lower limbs in nostalgic sympathy. "I don't think that's really what it means." There's only so far optimistic interpretation can go.

Otabek, correctly surmising the memories and meaning behind the words, paused in donning his own helmet. "He respects you, you know. He's definitely attached. You mean a lot to him."

Yuuri stopped rubbing in surprise, allowing the helmet to droop, forgotten. "Really?"

"Yes." Otabek's crisp confirmation was followed by the sharp click of his helmet strap fasteners.

Yuuri just stood there, jaw slightly agape, mulling over the possibility.

"So that means, we definitely have an obligation to check on his wellbeing. In school included," Otabek finished.

Yuuri's mouth finally closed and pressed together in a thin, disapproving glare. "You said that on purpose." Yuuri was, after all, no stranger to emotional manipulation. Living in close vicinity to first Yuuko, then Phichit, then Viktor, will do that to a person.

"Everything I said is true," Otabek deftly sidestepped the accusation. He mounted the bike and smoothly turned the key in the ignition, nodding in approval at the resulting heat-hiss-roar-purr of the 300 cc engine. It really was not unlike a very large cat, Yuuri thought distractedly. Like a puma-tiger. Or maybe even a tasmanian devil, who knew.

Filled with sudden determination (or maybe drained of self-preservation; many of Yuuri's impulsive decisions seemed to stem from either, depending upon whether you considered them from before or after the fact), Yuuri jammed on the helmet and leapt astride the motorcycle behind Otabek. "Alright. You win." Why did that things always turn out this way? Someday, Yuuri decided, arms secured about Otabek’s solid midsection, it would be time to stop being such a pushover. But today was not that day. Yuuri’s eyes squeezed shut in anticipation, then popped open as a sudden realization hit. “I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before.”

“It’s easy,” Otabek reassured his nervous passenger. “You just steer with your hips. You, of all people, should be a natural.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yuuri asked sharply, sweating slightly.

“Nothing,” Otabek rejoined emotionlessly. With a steady hand on the throttle, the power beneath them built to a crescendo and propelled them off on their quest.

Face buried between Otabek’s shoulder blades, Yuuri merely wondered if it was possible to regret something before it even started. When the silent query was answered by empty stomach rumbling, a long-suffering sort of resignation took hold. Of course they were starting out by skipping lunch. Lunch…

Yuuri stiffened. Wait, weren’t there lunch plans made earlier with -

###

Viktor, back at the Sankt Petersberg rink, walked out to the ice rink lobby, whistling tunelessly, until interrupted by a flurry of delicate sneezes. Wiping his nose with the back of a gloved hand, the imposing Russian cast about expectantly. The object of his search continuing to elude him, he finally padded over to the other occupant of the room.

"Where's Yuuri?" Viktor asked.

Mila continued securing her things in her bag as she sat on the sofa. "Yuri’s just wrapping up, he should be coming any minute now."

"Oh, no. Not this again. _My_ Yuuri."

"Who knows?"

"You do. Now spill."

"Can't. I've been sworn to secrecy."

"... I'm getting a curious case of deja-vu," Viktor admitted. “When will it be my turn to go on a secret adventure?”

“With you, Viktor,” Mila informed him seriously, “every day is a roller coaster.”

As if on cue, Yuri walked in. "Where's Otabek? I thought we'd go to lunch together."

"Can't tell you. Sworn to secrecy,” Mila recited.

Viktor gasped, hand on his wounded heart. "Yuuri ditched me for Otabek?!"

Yuri pointed accusingly at the redhead. "You sent them on a sidequest, didn't you, hag? Where is it this time, the Hagia Sophia?"

"To Constantinople?!" Viktor’s eyes welled with tears. Why wasn’t he invited?

"You mean Istanbul?” Mila raised an incredulous eyebrow. “When were you born, 1453?"

Viktor staggered back at the low blow.

Right at that moment, Georgi finally walked in. “Hey guys…” he trailed off uncertainly, taking in the varying poses of overwhelming despair, spitting rage, and ill-concealed mirth on display by the well-worn lounge furniture. Georgi clammed up and turned about abruptly, developed instincts leading him away from the volatile situation.

He was arrested in his retreat by the saccharine-sweet voice of his most terrifying rinkmate. “Georgi! Just who I was waiting for! You don’t have plans, do you?”

Georgi slowly turned to face her, posture stiff with apprehension. “Well, actually, yes, I -”

“Oh good, I didn’t think so!” Mila positively pounced from the couch and latched on to the taller man’s arm. “It’s been so long since we’ve all had a chance to go out and have fun together, it’d be a shame to pass up the opportunity! I’ve been thinking of ideas for ages!”

Viktor frowned, earlier distress suddenly evaporated. “We’ve been seeing each other pretty much every day.”

“That’s right, hag. Us and...”

Mila’s eyes shifted.

Viktor’s gaze clouded. “You don’t dislike Yuuri, do you, Mila?” he asked disbelievingly.

Mila snapped alert at the insinuation, bright hair whipping as she faced Viktor, aghast. “What?! No, of course not!”

Georgi, watching her warily, sighed. “You feel guilty picking on Yuuri, but not on us, don’t you,” he stated resignedly.

Too high, bright laughter pealed out in confirmation. “That’s ridiculous!” Mila playfully slapped his arm.

“Oh, expletive,” Yuri groaned.

Viktor nervously gulped. “Actually, you know what, I did have plans for today, so I’ll just -”

“With Yuuri, right?” Mila beamed at him knowingly. “So you’re free now! And we’re all ready to take your mind off things. Oh, we’ll have so much fun!” She proceeded to drag her rinkmates to the double doors.

Yuri grunted passive-aggressively, feverishly typing a surreptitious SOS text to his Kazakh visitor as he was forcibly towed by his leopard print hoodie. The digging of his heels in the thin carpet was mere token resistance to the inevitable at this point.

“It’s easier if you just do what she says,” Georgi offered his remaining rinkmate helpfully.

Viktor huffed in fond exasperation. Despite his time away, it seemed family still was family, on and off the ice. “Yes, I remember.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So the prompt was “Secret adventure with the mostly unlikely of people.” It was supposed to be Otabek and Yuuri, but I’d already outlined it with Yuri and Georgi. Oops.  
> I don’t own DDR, Sandstorm, that “Special Feeling” meme, Build-a-Bear, TMNT, Batman, Hetalia, Sailor Moon, nor Naruto. Lutz’s line about Girls’ Day Out is from Classicaloid. Otabek’s line about never traveling without his motorcycle is from the Intergalactic Nemesis. I don’t own those either.  
> Please visit me at [vanillaisnotplain on Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vanillaisnotplain) to squeal over the adorableness that is the Yuri on Ice the Musical, and other YoI things!


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